Child by Chance

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  Before she realized that he’d think she was laughing at him in all his naked glory.

  Backtracking as quickly as her befuddled brain could, she opened her mouth to make matters worse when he approached, jutting his hips forward with exaggerated pride, a huge grin on his face.

  “Let me help you with those,” he said, prodding the waistband of her panties with the tip of his penis.

  He wasn’t going to let her strip. Or make her strip. And that’s when Talia knew she was going to care for this man for the rest of her life.

  * * *

  SHERMAN PLAYED WITH her for hours. Touching every part of her. Lying back while she explored every part of him. She teased him. And he found her sexy as hell. He worshipped her, and she looked at him with confusion. He brought her to orgasm, holding his fingers inside her the first time as she pulsed around him, and her surprise brought a surge of protection from deep within him. He would take care of her. She would never want for anything again.

  When he finally positioned himself above her, touching the head of his condom-covered penis gently to her opening before very slowly driving himself completely inside her, he knew that a lifetime of this wasn’t going to be enough.

  One way or another he had to make love with this woman for the rest of his days.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  TALIA KNEW BY the way he was dressing with his back to her that nothing had changed as far as Sherman and their future was concerned. She’d known going in that it would be that way. She’d been under no false pretenses.

  So why in the hell did she have to choke back tears?

  And then anger?

  “Was it worth your money?” she asked to his back in a hardened voice she hadn’t heard coming from her in over a year.

  He spun around, zipping his fly. His chest, still bare and covered with dark hair, taunted her. It had been hers to touch, but only for a short time.

  “I didn’t spend any money.” His tone was upbeat as always, though the narrowing of his eyes hinted at a different story.

  “Not literally, no,” she said. And then before she could stop herself, the years of disappointment, of trying so hard to be decent, deserving of respect and failing time and again, spilled out of her. “But you might as well have, right? How was it, having sex with a woman who’s not respectable enough to be your date? Was it as exciting as you thought it would be?”

  “More.” His stare was hard. And pinned her to her spot. “Far more. And I’ve been thinking about it, exactly the same, from the second we met. Not since I found out what you did for a living.” Still shirtless and barefoot, he stepped closer to her on the plush carpet of the bedroom. “And that’s really what we’re talking about here, isn’t it?”

  Was it? She hoped her nonchalant stare spoke the question.

  “Why don’t you just ask, Talia?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  But she did. And couldn’t bear to voice the question.

  “You want to know if, in my mind, while I was making love to you, I was fantasizing about bedding a stripper. You want to know if it was Talia the collage reader I was sleeping with or Talia the Las Vegas pole dancer.”

  She didn’t slap him. Or cry.

  “And the answer to your question is...” He took her bare shoulders in his hands, caressing them so gently her whole body tingled. “Both. I was making love to you, Talia. All of you. Think about what just happened here. Think about how my body touched your body and then look me in the eye and tell me you think I was with a stripper.”

  She couldn’t.

  And he knew it.

  But it didn’t change things. Not really. He still couldn’t have her in his life. Not in any real sense.

  And that wasn’t anything new. Not from that night or the night before. Not from the beginning.

  Because she’d known all along there was no chance for a life with him.

  Because of Kent.

  Because of who she was.

  And whose son he was.

  “Where does that leave us?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not going to be able to stay away from here.”

  He would if she told him to.

  She nodded. Pulled on a robe as he finished dressing and followed him out to the back door.

  “May I still pick up Kent tomorrow?”

  His surprise was clearly genuine as he said, “Of course.”

  He bent and kissed her. She kissed him back.

  “Your past... I wish it was different, more for your sake than for mine,” he said softly. “But it doesn’t change how I feel for you privately,” he told her.

  She nodded again. She understood.

  And as he walked out she understood something else.

  After years of refusing to take male clients, of refusing to have sex without commitment, she’d just succumbed.

  Standing there alone, her body still wet from his touch, she felt like Sherman Paulson’s much appreciated whore.

  She watched his back, watched him approach his BMW, wanting to call out to him. To tell him not to return. That he wasn’t welcome in her home.

  But she didn’t. She couldn’t.

  Because regardless of the fact that he was never going to marry her, there was never going to be another man in her life.

  She was in love with this one.

  * * *

  SHERMAN WAS IN his car, on the way to a breakfast meeting Friday morning, when his phone rang. Pushing the hands-free talk button, and with his mind filled, as always, with thoughts of Talia, he took the call. He hadn’t spoken with her since leaving her place Sunday night, but he’d heard about her every day from his son. And taken her to bed with him every night.

  “Mr. Paulson?”

  “Yes?” He hadn’t known the number and didn’t recognize the voice. The area code was local.

  “This is Detective Lacey with the Santa Raquel Police.”

  Kent!

  “We’ve found Eddie Billingsley,” the detective continued, naming the young man who’d left home the night of Brooke’s death. “His mother identified the duffel bag we found on him.”

  Identified? “Is he dead?”

  “Yes, sir. And we have reason to believe that he was the driver of the car that killed your wife.”

  Sherman pulled over to the side of the three-lane road, hardly aware as horns honked and vehicles sped past him.

  “What reason?”

  “He had the keys to the stolen car on him,” the detective said. Sherman understood that it was the guy’s job to deliver sensitive information. But he sounded so...

  “Where was he?” Sherman couldn’t rally his thoughts. Couldn’t really put it all together. Or know how to respond. For two years he’d been waiting. Looking. When had he begun to believe that he’d never really know what happened?

  And been relieved by that fact?

  “Not far from the site of the accident,” the detective relayed in the same prosaic tone. “We’re waiting for forensics and the coroner to confirm, but it’s highly probable that while he sustained injuries in the accident, they might not have been life-threatening. He likely had his bag over his shoulder and left the scene, crossing over the median a short distance down the highway, ducked into some trees and unfortunately went over a cliff that overlooked the ocean. He probably heard the water, was heading for it, but didn’t see the drop-off. Once we had reason to suspect that he was our driver, and couldn’t find any sign of him after that night, we put searchers out. A team in a boat scouring the shoreline spotted what they thought might be a duffel bag and we put someone down on a line.”

  “His body’s been lying there all this time?”

  “What’s left of it. Yes, sir.”

&nb
sp; Sherman didn’t want to imagine the decomposition. Or the pain Tricia Billingsley must be suffering.

  And then something else struck him.

  “But we know that he was at the diner at the exit up ahead of where the accident took place,” he said, confused. “Which means he wouldn’t have come from the median turnaround like everyone thought.”

  “Yes, sir, it does. Unfortunately, it now appears that Eddie, who was under the influence, entered the highway going the wrong way, and that your wife drove straight into him.”

  “She wasn’t asleep at the time of the accident,” he said slowly, his peripheral vision red-tinged. “The coroner said that she was awake, fully reactive at time of impact.”

  “Yes, sir. It is my duty to inform you that the accident is now being ruled a suicide. I’m sorry. If you collected on any life insurance, you’ll want to contact your agent.”

  Life insurance? The man had just told him his wife likely killed herself, that the accident could have been avoided but for her conscious choice to let it happen, and he thought Sherman would care about life insurance?

  “I didn’t,” he said, because something was expected of him. He was pretty sure he thanked the man. And then he sat there, his car running, and tried to figure out what it all meant.

  * * *

  TALIA HAD DINNER with her family on Friday. She’d taken Tatum with her to pick up Kent from school and then drove her home afterward. Staying for dinner had kind of been expected.

  “I got a call from Osborne,” she announced, naming an elementary school on the outskirts of town as she helped set the table. Tanner was getting drinks. Tatum was helping Sedona in the attached kitchen. “Some stuff I wrote in my report triggered a meeting with a girl’s mother and the school counselor. Turns out the girl was being sexually harassed by her stepfather. The mother filed for divorce and thankfully things were caught before he actually touched her. I guess they’d been having problems, but the mother hadn’t known just how much of a creep the guy was.”

  “Wow!” Tatum brought a basket of hot rolls to the table. “That’s one lucky girl.”

  Talia agreed.

  “Thanks to you,” Tatum added. And Talia wanted to believe her.

  It wasn’t until they’d finished eating that she told them that she’d told Sherman about her former career. And that she didn’t think she’d be seeing either of the Paulson boys again after Kent completed his program at the Stand. Maybe even before then.

  “But you’re going to continue seeing both of them in the meantime?” Tanner asked.

  She couldn’t lie to him. But she couldn’t look at him when she told him she was.

  “I’m worried about you.” They were still at the dinner table. They’d baked chicken enchiladas, Sedona’s mother’s recipe, and the only thing left were some chips and salsa in the middle of the table.

  “I can’t not see my son every chance I get while I’ve got the chance.”

  “The more you see him, the harder it’s going to be to say goodbye.” Sedona’s warm gaze showed concern.

  “It’s going to hurt like hell no matter when it happens.” The truth was right there in front of them. Had been all along. “I don’t regret the choice to help him,” she added, maybe a tad defensively.

  They could judge her if they wanted to, but she knew she’d done the right thing for Kent. In the end, that was all that mattered.

  “Have you thought about the fact that he might have a hard time letting you go?”

  “I’m just another adult in his life,” she said. “I’ve been very careful to be supportive without getting too close. He’s far more interested in his new friend Jason than he is in me.”

  Which was as it should be. A memory came to her as she thought about those words. A movie that she and Tanner and Thomas had watched together once.

  “Do you remember Mary Poppins?” she asked her brother.

  His grin told her he did. “You tried for weeks after that to get liftoff with an umbrella.”

  She remembered that. “She loved those children, and they loved her, too, but when it was time for her to go, the kids turned to their parents.”

  Mary Poppins had said that was how it should be.

  And little Talia had wondered about that for a very long time.

  Kent was fond of her. Like he’d be fond of a teacher. And when their time together was done, he’d move on. Hopefully remembering her now and then with a smile.

  Tatum offered to spend the night with her. It wasn’t a school night, she reminded Talia. The teenager was supposed to be going to the movies with Jimmy and another couple that evening. While Talia would have loved her sister’s company, she didn’t want to be an excuse for Tatum to give in to her fear of leaving the safety of her family and having a social life. Assuring Tatum that she really wanted to be alone, that she needed to do homework, Talia helped her little sister pick out an outfit for her date and then left for home.

  Where she sat at her table, as she had each night for a week, and wondered if she’d have a visitor.

  She was alone. Lonely as anything. But she still had her family. She’d helped her son. And another little girl.

  Her life was on course.

  * * *

  SHERMAN WAITED UNTIL Kent was in bed Friday night before calling Ben over. Sandy was working and the older man was just as happy to fall asleep in front of the television at Sherman’s house as he was at his own.

  Changing from his work clothes into jeans and a black, long-sleeved pullover, he slipped on his sandals and left in a hurry.

  He hadn’t planned on going. Knew he shouldn’t go. But once his mind was made up, he couldn’t get to the ocean fast enough.

  Her light was on. He’d known she’d be home. Talia Malone was always home. Unless she was working or in class. He’d never met a more responsible woman.

  Or a more beautiful one.

  Just as she had the previous week, she had the door open for him by the time he got out of his car. And, as before, she wasn’t standing there to greet him. Books, papers and her laptop were spread out on her worktable. From the almost-full glass of iced tea on the table he figured she’d been there working, but as he closed the door behind him, he still couldn’t see any sign of her.

  No sign of life in the darkened living room, either. Or in the dimly lit attached kitchen. No Talia in there getting him a glass of wine.

  Not that he’d expected her to be.

  Knowing he should leave, Sherman moved quietly through the house, leaving the master bedroom for last. He told himself that he had to make sure she was safe. Out there alone, with no close neighbors and her back door unlocked, she could have come to harm. And might need his help.

  More likely, he was the threat.

  When he reached the bedroom and saw her there, on her bed, in a scrap of black silk and lace, he went hard instantly. He had his shirt off before he was all the way through the door and his pants weren’t far behind.

  Her opened arms welcomed him. Her lips as hungry as his as they satisfied a thirst that had been building all week.

  Or maybe a lifetime. He just didn’t know anymore.

  All he knew was that this woman owned him. He was her slave. She called to him even when he stayed completely away.

  Leaving her lace lingerie on, he accessed her breasts. Her nipples. Not as gently as he had the previous week. Egged on by her urgency, he spent the next hour doing things to her body that he’d never have imagined he’d be doing. She cried out in pleasure more times than he could count. And she brought sounds he didn’t recognize to his lips. And then swallowed them up. Once wasn’t enough. He made love to her a second time. And then a third. And when it was over, he lay there, staring at her ceiling, wondering what in the hell he’d done.

  CHAPTER TWENT
Y-FIVE

  TALIA COULDN’T LIE with him. Having never spent the night in a man’s arms, she knew that she couldn’t afford to allow herself the luxury with Sherman. She was already in way too deep.

  If she spent the night with him, letting him go might just break her.

  Sliding off the far side of the bed, she adjusted her lingerie—an expensive piece purchased for her by a girlfriend in Vegas—and headed for the bathroom.

  When she came out, Sherman was dressed, leaning a shoulder against the wall as he peered out the window into the darkness that hid the beach and ocean beyond.

  He turned. “I’m s—”

  “No,” Talia interrupted. “Do not apologize to me.” Why the idea that he would made her so angry, she didn’t know, but it did. Anger was better than hurt. Easier. She clung to it.

  “Brooke committed suicide.”

  Whatever she’d been expecting, that was not it. Meeting his gaze, she saw the shadows in the depths of his eyes.

  “How do you know?”

  He told her about the phone call from the detective. Followed by a second conversation with the detective who’d been on Brooke’s case from the beginning. It would be a while before all of the tests came back, but the results were pretty clear even without the science necessary to confirm them.

  “Why?”

  Feeling cold in her negligee, Talia wrapped her arms around herself. Sherman grabbed the robe she’d left lying on the chair by the window and brought it to her, but didn’t help her into it.

  “I don’t know,” he said, stepping away from her. “Truthfully, I have no idea. Things weren’t great between us. We weren’t gloriously happy. But we weren’t miserable, either.” He threw out a hand and let it drop again. “We had good careers that we both enjoyed. And the rest of our lives revolved around Kent, whom we both adored. And Brooke and I...if nothing else, we remained good friends.”

  “Had she been seeing a therapist or anything?”

  “No. She’d never had problems with depression or chemical dependence. She wasn’t on any medications...”